Five Times Wesker Looked After Birkin
by Ironi Numair
Summary: ...and one time Birkin did the same for him.
1. The Lab

"Birkin."

No, he was busy. He didn't have time. Conferences could wait. Break time could wait. This was what mattered.

"Birkin."

The G-virus would be complete, would be everything Umbrella could ever dream of. He'd show them all, especially a certain _family_ that lineage wasn't important, it was intellect, intellect and talent and _hard work_ and…

Hands on his shoulders was his only warning to get his eye away from the microscope before he was spun bodily around and got a face-full of Wesker. Despite any whisperings he may have heard in their sad excuse for a kitchen turned break room, it was really wasn't that nice of a face, especially with those shades on. Birkin saw only his own sunken eyes staring back in their reflection.

"You need to eat," Wesker said in that annoying, flat voice of his.

"Humans only require a certain number of calories per day, which I'm sure I've met…"

"Twelve hours ago."

"…And losing a few won't make me drop dead. I'm fine, I'll eat when I'm done here."

"In twelve more hours?"

"However long it takes," Birkin snapped. He meant to turn his seat back around to return to his work, but Weser grabbed his shoulder and ducked down.

"Don't you _dare_!" Birkin shrieked but too late, he was hoisted up over Wesker's shoulder and carried from his lab like a child. "Put me down, you test-tube abnormality!"

"We're back to the test-tube theory? I thought we'd settled on me being an alien," Wesker said casually, immune to Birkin's wriggling and attempts to get free.

"Locker-room slime mold!"

"Look, I haven't been around long enough to have multiple origin stories yet, you need to pick one and stick with it."

Birkin finally surrendered and stopped struggling. He was rewarded by Wesker setting him down to allow him the dignity of entering the break room on his own two feet. That didn't stop Birkin from dropping into a chair at the table petulantly and glowering at a few of his colleagues hovering by the coffeemaker.

Wesker slid him a plate on which was a sandwich before settling himself in the chair opposite Birkin. He was going to damn well watch him eat, wasn't he? Didn't Wesker have his own work to do?

"Eat it, Birkin."

Apparently not.

The sandwich tasted like nothing, or at least Birkin presumed it did as he had no memory of eating it, his mind so consumed with thoughts of the G-virus he had to get back to. Regardless, the sandwich was gone and, taking the plate, Wesker magnanimously waved him away.

Having something in his gut did make Birkin feel a bit better, so he mumbled out a thanks before he left to lock himself away before Wesker arrived to ensure his human needs were met yet again.

Really, were they not giving Wesker enough work? Damn.


	2. The Dorm

Birkin kicked open the door of their shared dorm room and beamed at Wesker. It would have been far more effective if Wesker bothered to look up but he was at his desk, scribbling away on one of his many pages of lists and notes, books and planners stacked around him. Birkin never figured out why he needed more than one yearly planner at a time but then Wesker was missing more than a few screws.

"Shut the door, I'm busy."

"Guess who was just approached by some Umbrella representatives," Birkin said, an almost sing-song quality to his voice.

"Never in a million years could I guess."

"They want to enroll me in their executive training program as soon as I graduate!" Birkin announced, entering the room and shutting the door behind him. "I mean, I wasn't worried I couldn't get a job or anything but _Umbrella_ , and right away!"

"Good."

Now Birkin believed he knew Wesker well enough to pick up on nuances in his voice, and despite the flat lack of enthusiasm he noted a hint of satisfaction in it. What did he have to be smug about?

Wesker was part of an Umbrella scholarship program for 'unfortunates' that would feed him into one of their myriad departments upon graduation. He had regular contact with Umbrella representatives who monitored his education and provided him a basic allowance for food and other essentials.

"You said something, didn't you?"

Wesker set down his pencil and finally looked at Birkin. "I may have let slip that you were a brilliant bio-engineer and considering how young you were, even with extra training, they could get a lifetime of work from you making one William Birkin an excellent investment." He turned away again, lifting the pencil but twirling it in his fingers rather than using it. "Besides, I assumed you'd appreciate going straight to a job after graduation rather than back to your family," Wesker muttered the last part.

Birkin felt subdued and, for a brief moment, betrayed. So Umbrella didn't notice him because of his brilliance, they talked to him because Wesker told them to.

He must have been quiet for too long because Wesker swung around in his chair and glared at him. "For fuck's sake, Will. I recommended you. Whether they decided to actually consider you or not is based on your abilities regardless what I say. You're giving me too much credit."

Right. What was Wesker to Umbrella anyway? A pity case, a PR stunt. Nothing made a large company like that look good like sponsoring a poor orphan genius. Not that they wouldn't bring him into their fold if he wasn't capable, and Wesker was damn capable.

But so was Birkin, more so, and Wesker ensured they noticed that.

He kicked at a leg of Wesker's chair. "Thanks, locker slime."

"Don't mention it. Ever. The last thing I need is for people to think this was some overture of friendship."

Birkin winced. "Of course not. We just work well together."

"Precisely." Conversation over, Wesker turned back to his work and ignored Birkin, who promptly began digging through his stuff for spare change with which to call home to tell his mother the news. The executive training program at Umbrella!

Maybe his father would finally stop treating him like a failure now.


	3. The Street

Birkin had hoped that with the departure of high school his bullying issues would cease. After all, students had real work to focus on, and at such a prestigious school as this did they not want to pursue their degrees? They were certainly paying enough to.

Ironically, in this case he was right; he'd suffered no issues with bullying on campus. But he was off campus, heading back from the market, and currently enjoying the pathetic charms of a goddamn adult who verbally accosted him before growing bored of that getting physical. Birkin was experienced in these matters and went into his tried and true defense: he threw his arms over his head and curled into ball. He received a kick or two before his attacker started grabbing at him and went for his wallet.

In his fear Birkin barely registered the heavy pounding of boots on concrete getting closer until they were on top of him, and then his attacker no longer was as someone threw themselves knee-first into the man and they both sprawled onto the pavement.

Birkin dared to look up just as Wesker scrambled to his feet, boots slipping on wet ground, and went for his attacker again, kicking the older and much larger man in the face as he tried to get to his own feet. He kept kicking when Birkin's attacker went down.

There were no quips, no dialogue or dramatic music, and from Birkin's position on the ground the whole thing was rather anticlimactic as Wesker finally leapt back as the man pushed himself to his feet. Wesker took up a defensive pose between his opponent and Birkin, his feet light and ready to move and fists raised.

The man ran, and Wesker took the opportunity to curse him out in Afrikaans as he did so.

Birkin sat up. "Did you just beat up a guy twice your size?"

"Surprise is a hell of an advantage," Wesker panted, relaxing and letting out the stress in a few shudders. His ire returned and he turned it on Birkin, grabbing his shirt collar and yanking him to his feet roughly.

"Hey!"

"Really?" Wesker snarled, giving Birkin a shake, "Curling into a ball? Wonderful strategy!"

"Shut the hell up! We can't all win the puberty lottery!" Birkin yelled, trying to force Wesker to let go and failing. Wesker was smaller than most adults, obviously an adolescent, but he towered over Birkin and was already blessed with strength that would only develop further. He worked out at the gym down the road every other day after classes. "And what, you fight too?"

"I do kickboxing on weekends."

"Of course you do!"

Wesker let him go and Birkin started collecting the food he'd just bought that was now scattered on the sidewalk.

"Hurry up, if he goes and collects friends or even just comes back himself we're both in trouble."

"You could help," Birkin grumbled.

"What, I haven't done enough?"

Birkin stuffed the surviving food back into the bag, leaving the squished fruit where it fell, muttering to himself.

"I shouldn't have to deal with this anymore. I'm in college! What about me makes people want to beat me up?"

"Well you're incredibly annoying to start."

Birkin glared. "I'm thirteen. What grown man bullies a thirteen-year-old?"

"It's not bullying that was a mugging. You look rich."

"Wait, what?"

Wesker grabbed Birkin by the collar and steered him down the street and they both hurried back towards campus.

"You look rich. He probably thought you had money on you."

"Well I...do."

"Because you're rich, and you look it. Who are you trying to impress?"

"I..." Who indeed? He wasn't home anymore; no one at the university was going to call home if he didn't measure up to standard. He could sneak to the back stairwell and smoke weed with Wesker wearing nothing but his underwear if he wanted and no one would say anything about it!

That seemed a bit much, though. He was here to study, to learn, to advance. He had an intellect few could dream of and fewer knew how to use. He wouldn't waste it.

"How the hell do you know what rich looks like, Mr. Amnesiac?"

"Because I've seen poor people and I've seen rich people. You're the latter."

"So what, I should dress like I only have two outfits like you?"

"I have three outfits. And it would help. I'd rather not have to save you every time someone gets pissed off with you, especially because I might not be so lucky next time. You're not worth an ass-kicking."

"Well...thanks, I guess."

"Sure. If anything, get rid of that damned sweater vest, you're embarrassing me in front of the muggers."


	4. The Syringe

Birkin couldn't help but double check that that straps were secure; Lisa Trevor was agitated and the protective gear they wore was for the viruses, not her. They looked tight but he stayed out of reach just in case.

She shifted, moaned and tugged against her restraints.

"Be a good girl, Lisa, and maybe I'll let you listen to a record for a little," Wesker said in a tone that wasn't soothing at all and in fact gave Birkin goosebumps. Still it seemed to work and Lisa calmed slightly.

Take advantage of that now, he thought, she won't stay that way when the needles come out.

Birkin set up the tape recorder. He wished they'd gotten hold of a video recorder but Marcus wouldn't allow them the more expensive equipment for what he considered their 'side projects'. How insulting. The Ebola virus could open up possibilities to grant the T-virus the power it would need to be a viable weapon. The old man was blind to actual progress.

"Subject Lisa Trevor testing for a sample of Ebola, November 23, 1978, ten thirty-eight AM. We will inject a sample into the subject and track symptoms over a period of ten days."

"You get first shift," Wesker said, unlocking a sample of the virus from its container and drawing some into a syringe.

"Oh no, you just promised our dear Lisa some music time, seems only right you ensure she gets what she was promised."

Wesker huffed in the back of his throat in that way that meant he was annoyed but not enough to do anything about it. "Are you ready? I might need help holding her."

Birkin eyed their deformed subject again but moved closer. The straps would hold her down but she could still thrash and disrupt everything.

It would be a waste of a good test subject if the Ebola killed her, but they were placing their faith in the Progenitor virus that had kept her alive so far. The chance to study the Ebola virus' entire cycle in a living host was too much to pass up.

"Ready?"

Birkin positioned himself.

"Now Lisa, be good girl, it's just a little prick..."

At the sight of the needle Lisa's semi-calm demeanor shattered and she shrieked and thrashed.

"Hold her!" Wesker snarled.

Birkin grabbed at her shoulders but too late. There was a sharp snap and two of the restraints broke. He fell back as the entire table lurched under her violent movements but he was too slow. She leapt upward, instruments flying and Birkin threw up his arms.

Wesker slid in front of him, throwing his arm back and shoving Birkin behind him as she lunged. Birkin tumbled backwards over a stool. The snap and sizzle of the cattle prod lit and Lisa shrieked in pain.

"Bitch!" Wesker yelled, and struck her with it again. She wailed and retreated enough that Wesker took the offensive and went for her again.

Birkin would not consider Wesker cowardly, but he was certainly not stupid and abandoning the lab and locking her in and summoning security to deal with her was the practical thing to do. Wesker was nothing but practical, so much so that it had been attached to his name by their colleagues.

(No imagination whatsoever, no wonder he and Wesker were at the front of the research; the ability to design bio-weaponry required not only intellect but a mind that could expand and imagine the possible from impossibilities.)

And yet Wesker did not retreat to the door. He did not run from the monster that could rip them apart with as much effort as it took Birkin to tear a piece of paper. He forced her back,moaning, striking her enough that she backed away into a corner on her own and stayed there, huddled and whimpering. Only then did Wesker back away, rod raised, to birkin. He dared look away from her briefly, glancing at Birkin before extending his free hand.

"Hurry up, let's go."

"Wesker..."

"I said let's go, she won't stay afraid of this for long. Call security they'll—"

"Al!"

Wesker glared at him, as though Birkin was suddenly too stupid to understand what danger they were still in, but paused when he saw William's wide, alarmed eyes. He followed them to his extended arm, to the syringe that was sticking into his flesh. It had been forgotten in the tussle and with his adrenaline rushing he still didn't even feel it.

"Oh my god."

"Will..."

"Did it depress?"

Wesker ignored the question,suddenly very, disturbingly, calm. "We're going to leave this lab and lock her in...then quarantine procedures..."

" _Did it depress?_ "

"Shut up!" Wesker grabbed Birkin by his tie and dragged him to his feet, not daring to lower the cattle prod from Lisa's direction, who was now eyeing them, even to pull the needle out. Birkin couldn't stop staring at it. It didn't come loose even with the jostling.

It was in deep.

Wesker shoved him out the door and hit the emergency locks, the hiss of hydraulics reassuring them that Lisa was no longer a threat.

Birkin was shaking and it had nothing to do with her.

"Will, the quarantine," Wesker said, unable to keep a tremor out of his own voice as he reached for the syringe and pulled it free.

A part of Birkin suddenly wanted to say no, fuck the quarantine, let's go. We can get away before they notice... But to what end? The survival rate of Ebola was very low.

Wesker would be dead in a couple weeks, max.

"Will." How the hell did he stay so damn calm?

Birkin tripped the leak alarm, lights flashed, the low keen of an alarm echoed down the hall, and the door out of the preparation room shut, locking them in.

Wesker slammed the syringe down on a metal table beside him and folded his arms tightly, glaring anywhere but at Birkin. His lips were pressed tight and he said nothing until they were retrieved.

* * *

Birkin was not spared the disinfecting procedures, despite the fact the syringe never went near him. He was stripped, hosed and scrubbed until his skin was raw and then locked into a quarantine cell by himself with nothing more than a pair of loose scrub pants and a cot. One of his colleagues arrived soon after, hidden underneath protective gear to take a blood sample.

Now it was a matter of waiting, and it was going to be a long one. They wouldn't release him until they were damn sure he was clean. Fortunately Birkin's mind would keep him from complete and utter boredom as he took advantage of the uninterrupted time to rethink Progenitor and its potential. No annoying reports to write and file, no Wesker forcing him to eat. Just the blood tests.

Still, after the third day he was getting restless.

"How am I looking?" he asked Dr. Jameson as the researcher folded a cotton ball into the crook of his arm. God he was starting to look like a junkie...

"So far so good, but I didn't think otherwise. This is just procedure."

Dr. Jameson didn't like Birkin and wasn't afraid to make sure everyone knew it, but he was also as close to one could get to a man of integrity around here and didn't wish death on the man (dismissal, yes, maiming, maybe, but not death). He was also not one to drag his personal feelings into his work; both Wesker and Birkin could appreciate that and despite their animosity they worked together better than most.

"What about Wesker?"

"Are you worried about him?"

Was he? "He's one of the few people around here I can stand, but if he is infected I damn well want to be there to record it."

"Don't count on that. Dr. Marcus is...not happy with you two. You might even be removed from the project after this."

Birkin couldn't help but wince slightly at that. If he was removed from the T-virus development he was essentially useless here, and the useless usually found themselves strapped to a table under the scalpel of their former colleagues.

But worse than that, he wouldn't see the work through.

No. Progenitor and the T-virus may be Marcus' projects, but Birkin had poured his dedication into it, had made such advancements and discoveries...

They would not be ripped from him. Not ever.

"Dr. Wesker's showing no symptoms as of yet, but it can take about ten days for them to manifest."

"What about his blood work?"

"You're fine so far, isn't that all you care about?"

* * *

Without inspiration or work to look at, Birkin could only turn the theoretical T-virus of his mind so many ways, and after a week his mind wandered. He kept going back to the lab, to Lisa, to Wesker.

To Wesker's arm as it swung and thrust Birkin behind him, away from Lisa.

He was cleared at the end of the week, his blood work consistently clear and no symptoms to be had outside increased bitchiness and a need to get back to work.

Wesker was still in quarantine.

Dr. Marcus was indeed displeased but the week had lessened his fury to mere frustration. Birkin was forbidden access to the Ebola samples and Lisa Trevor for the time being, relegated back to a few old abandoned projects as punishment. Languishing with dead ends was a punishment, and yet if he managed to make something of it then Marcus benefited, of course.

With some fake worry no one fell for, he was allowed access to Wesker's blood samples and progress. Eight days later and he still was showing no symptoms. Birkin couldn't help but feel a little hopeful. He really hated everyone else around here and without Wesker to act as his social buffer he might kill someone. They'd known each other for so long now that Wesker was, well, a good colleague.

He stared at the blood sample, rubbed his eyes, then peered through the microscope again.

"This is the most recent sample?" he asked Dr. Jameson.

"It is."

"This isn't right. The last sample was—"

"That's the second one I took, I couldn't believe the first and had to be sure."

Birkin got up and grabbed the last two samples and slid them beneath the scope, scanning each one.

"What the hell."

* * *

Wesker eyed him as Birkin entered his room but said nothing, remaining reclined on his cot and taking note of the books in Birkin's gloved hands.

"They told me you were cleared but not that you were assigned to monitor me," Wesker said.

"I'm not, in fact I'm stuck on dead-end duty, but sometimes if I act like we're friends they let me look things over and check on you."

"Are those books a good or bad sign?"

"Neither, I just figured you were bored. They're from McKenzie's desk though, so they're most likely worse than the boredom."

"Doubt it. I've had nothing to do but work out and jack off. I expect whoever's on security camera detail either wants to kill me or send me flowers."

"Gross, Al. But the good news is by the time you're out of here Marcus will have forgotten about our failed experiment and you won't be stuck in the records room. It's dusty in there."

Wesker sat up slowly. "So I am getting out?"

"Yeah, against all odds, you're blood work's clean. A couple more days in here just to be sure then you're cleared. The universe must fucking love you."

"Apparently. I was sure the syringe..."

"There was a lot going on," Birkin shrugged and set the books on the cot, "We're still going to have to burn those anyway, so don't tell Dr. McKenzie you got them from me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Wesker said, propping a leg up on the cot and resting his arm on it. His voice remained as flat and controlled as ever but Birkin could hear the relief and sudden lightness.

How did Wesker prepare himself for death? Did he accept it or was he silently railing against it all in this room where no one could hear him? Birkin knew better than to ask.

Wesker arched a pale brow. "Don't look so disappointed, Will. I'm sure I'll make up not dying of Ebola to you somehow."

"You always do," Birkin muttered.

"Pardon?"

"Just..." Birkin reached up to absently scratch at his cheek but the visor blocked him, "you pushed me back."

He didn't want to talk about this, didn't want to ask. They'd known each other for a long time now but both had long accepted it was a companionship of convenience. They'd been roommates, then came to Umbrella together, had been working side by side ever since, but there was nothing more. They weren't friends.

Except Wesker was always dragging him off to keep him company out in the woods while he smoked weed, whether Birkin partook or not. Except Birkin had asked him to come home with him for the holidays because William didn't want to face his family alone.

They were colleagues, companions even, yes. But friendship carried a weight neither of them wanted, neither of them needed.

Except Wesker stepped between Birkin and Lisa Trevor.

Eyes narrowed, Wesker regarded Birkin warily. "What are you talking about?"

Birkin had to know.

"When Lisa got loose, she was coming at me. You pushed me aside, got between us..."

Wesker's abrupt, cold chuckle made the hair on the back of Birkin's neck stand up.

"For fuck's sake, Will. Is that what you thought? I was trying to get to the door; I know better than to try to deal with her. You were in my way so I pushed you aside. You're lucky I just happened to shove you away from her."

"Oh."

 _Thank god_.

Birkin let out a breath of relieved air then chuckled. "Don't scare me like that. I thought you were being like...heroic or something."

The look of disgust Wesker gave him was priceless. "If I ever do such a thing please infect me for real."

"Noted. So, barring anything weird, I'll see you in a few days when they let you out."

"Feed Moldred for me."

"I'm not 'feeding' your moldy old Thai food, why do you even still have that."

"It's for science."

"No it's not it... Never mind. Stay clean, don't die, and," Birkin pointed to the camera in the upper corner of the room, "stop flirting with security."

"No promises."

Birkin left and went through standard disinfection process before he went back to the labs. Going over Jameson's head, he'd sent the findings of Wesker's blood samples to Spencer and then had the whole thing sealed, leaving some doctored reports in their place.

He saved some samples for himself and sat at his desk, staring at them.

"You always do," Birkin muttered, staring at the gene code that would solve _everything_.


End file.
